


The little king

by lizmindpalace



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Abuse, Childhood, Heartbreaking, Orphans, Other, Past, Psychological Trauma, Psychopath Sherlock, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Sad, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 10:23:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12909936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizmindpalace/pseuds/lizmindpalace
Summary: What's behind Jim Moriarty?





	The little king

He was running over the leaves that the autumn had stolen to the trees that watched the path, there was nothing better than listen to the crushing sound of the leaves below his footsteps. The fact that this time he was not able to stop and listen to them crunch was a shame, he must keep running as fast as he was able to; the fatigue began to take possession of his force, the sweat, even though it was a cold morning was already on his forehead and a pain in his ribs had appeared gradually, while his dry throat asked for rest, if he wanted to keep breathing.

 _Why must it be like that?_ He frequently asked to himself, in his own introspection moments that used to last hours, his eyes looking at the far away infinite.

He was never an athletic boy and now he reproached it himself while he fell over the sidewalk; his hands full of blood, as his face. He glanced up, trying to recuperate himself. _Too much late._

_“Were you waiting to be trampled?” I like you accepting you were made for that”_

He said nothing but hid in his arms, trying to save his face, but it was useless in his condition, his scrawny and weak figure didn’t allow him to make too much to stop to the burly athlete, who violently kicked him. “ _You’re useless Jimmy_. Don’t you like me calling you like that? Just like mommy used to do”. After finishing his heroic feat, he ran away like a coward just after throwing a spittle over Jim's head and trampled him a bit, _because he just was useful for that_.

James had been in charge of his grandmother, an old blind woman who fed him and _loved_ in her own way.

He had not any option, he had never met his father it was supposed he had abused his mother, or it was maybe another lie of her, that used to tell to him, moreover, four years ago, the child’s mother had gone; after a night when insanity, drugs, alcohol, depression or whatever it was, had taken her and made her want to kill herself and strangle to the little boy just because _he had ruined her life in all possible ways_. The neighbours had heard the rampage- they had warned her that if she hurt him again, they would call the police- and they did it like that, a second more, and the boy would have been dead.

The marks on his pale neck and other areas on his little languid body almost inert were fatal, in scarlet and purple tones that showed the physical abuse he had suffered, police determined the mother must be interned in a psychiatric clinic and immediately keep her away of the child. 

In his agony, he could hear his mother’s screams telling him how much she hated him, how much she wished he had been born dead, or she had had an abort to avoid his birth. Maybe for a seven years old kid, who was dying those words could have not sense, but for him, who always had a brilliant reasoning, they had it. The strangest thing about her mother, was the abrupt changes in her mood, there were times when after hurting him, she used to apologize to him, she told him she loved him and that he should ignore the actions that ordinary people like her used to do, that he should try to be different, not like her, and she sang a lullaby to him.

_It’s raining, it’s pouring, Jimmy is tired. I’m laughing, I’m crying, Jimmy is sleeping._

That night, the lullaby was different, the last verse was changed for “ _Jimmy is dying_ ”, her cold hands on his neck, his breath making weaker and weaker, he would never forget the day he was so near to death for the very first time.

Whatever it was, there had been rumors that his grandmother did not want to tell him about her mother, some said she had escaped from the clinic and had killed herself, leaving a note full of curses to him, others said she was still in the white comfortable room and others said she just ran away. He never knew the truth until many years later, he took the report and made it a paper ball, and holding it with all his forces making his hand bleed, and later threw it to the chimney fire.  

“Feelings will kill you, Jim” his grandmother used to repeat. He just nodded, but the only thing he was able to remember was he had never felt something different to pain. That was the good advice from his grandmother. When she passed away, he remembered those words and he did not do anything while she was having that fulminant heart attack that killed her, he crossed his arms and called the ambulance after making sure she was no longer breathing. And the same happened with Carl.

Mr Powers had been kind to him when all the trouble with his mom happened, but he made a big mistake, he told to his family, including Carl, his son.

Carl hated Jim for some strange and unknown reason. Jim had never been a child like others, he used to hide in the library in the break time because no one wanted to be a friend of the school’s nerd. It wasn’t his fault, was it? At the beginning it had been hurting to him, he was a kid after all, he had cried in a lonely corner at school because he felt alone, because while everybody laughed he just could cry, they hit him if he tried to join to the games with them, when he spoke it was like he wasn’t there, his voice was like a summer wind, just a whisper that nobody listened, that nobody noticed. As the time happened, the little shadow became darker and got away from everything. He was remembered for getting the best grades, but at the end of the year everybody forgot his name, he was grateful for it in a certain way. In all the time he had spent between books, he had found out how much passion he felt for the exact sciences and he knew more than any professor of math and physics in the school. When he was eleven, he did not allow that someone as stupid as Carl Powers humbled him anymore, he had to change the situation, maybe he did not have the same physical ability but he had something even more important.

Some days before the competition, Carl threated Jim for the very last time. “When I get back and I get winner, you’ll receive your life’s beating, Moriarty”

He smiled, Carl spent the rest of the afternoon remembering that disturbing smile that he had never seen on his face. Of course, he shouldn’t be afraid, what could the stupid James Moriarty possibly do? He could kill him with just a knock, that boy was not able to do anything. 

And during the race, hiding where no one was able to see him, he kept his eyes fixed on Carl and felt something that he had never felt, something new, but he liked it, was it happiness? He had killed him, he saw how he was slowly sinking, how he handled in the water trying to get out, how nobody did nothing, how the last oxygen bubbles went out his body; later the emergency bodies, informing that it was too late and a satisfied smile on his face.

He left the pool while he was singing a song with the hands on his pockets. The power suited him well.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it, cause I needed to write this. I had this idea when I lied on my bed at night, it was a sad idea but still beautiful in its own way.  
> Comment, leave kudos and all that stuff. Thank you so so much for reading, it means a lot to me.  
> Tell me what you think, I'm always open to suggestions. And as always sorry for any English mistake here.


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